


First

by Guardian_Kysra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Valentine's Day, harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Kysra/pseuds/Guardian_Kysra
Summary: Hermione is celebrating her first Valentine's Day as a married woman but her husband is currently out of town, she is at a pub waiting for Ginny, and there's a Wanker who thinks he "was there first."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	First

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Depictions of harrassment. Mentions of underage sex. 
> 
> I started writing this last year for Valentine's but never finished it. I'm still not sure of how this came out but *shrug* Happy Valentine's everyone!

It’s night, the street lights and electric signs of countless eateries and businesses creating an (LED, fluorescent?) day that pierces into her brain unpleasantly, particularly since she had planned to spend this evening at home.

Hermione checks the address on the scrap of parchment one more time then the numbers on the buildings as she passes, walking slowly through the established foot traffic and shivering beneath her layers. It’s been raining day in and day out for the last week and a cold front blew in yesterday, freezing the fallen moisture into slabs of ice. 

She is appropriately bundled, a fact she is sure Ginny will appreciate; because, honestly, Ginny Potter nee Weasley, has become worse than Molly in the coddle department since becoming a mum herself. 

Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at the invitation to have drinks tonight considering Ginny had been self-sequestered since James’ birth a few months ago – pleasantly surprised and _grateful_. It was – after all – Valentine’s Day; and while Hermione had never been one to make much of the holiday, she had been looking forward to a night of romance as it was her first as a married woman. Unfortunately, her husband was away on business for another few days.

Drinks with Ginny would be an excellent distraction from the loneliness that had taken root in her breast. Although, she had to wonder why Ginny wasn’t keen to spend tonight with Harry (Hermione _had_ offered to babysit Jamesy after all).

The pub is situated on a busy corner swimming with people – couples mostly, a number of all-female groups, and a few singles. She doesn’t see Ginny in the throng so she makes her way inside, rids herself of coat, beanie, and gloves (the interior is quite toasty with two fireplaces on either side of the main serving area), seats herself at the batr and places her beaded bag on the stool next to her. 

Taking a moment, she appreciates that the place is not overfilled as many venues are for the holiday – just enough people to be cozy, not enough to cause claustrophobia. There is the pleasant buzz of several conversations and voices going at once, muted slightly by the oldies music filtering through near invisible speakers. 

It’s a nice place. Everyone is smiling. The lowlight is just bright enough that she doesn’t feel unsafe or cloaked. The décor is well-done and tasteful. 

She orders a little red wine and is – instead – presented with two due to the two-for-one special going on for Valentine’s Day. Shrugging, she decides to indulge; and when Ginny is ten minutes late, she begins to slow down – nearly finished her first glass.

Hermione takes out her DA coin (many years old now but still functional), taps it and sends Ginny a message – just to make sure her friend is okay. The coin turns hot moments later, stating, “Be there soon.”

Assured, Hermione lays her worry to rest with a sip of her wine and a run through her beaded bag for the book she had been reading earlier. She has read five pages when a body wedges itself between her and the stool she is saving for Ginny. She looks up when an unfamiliar hand tries to take her book.

Scowling, she protectively tucks her book between her hands before studying the countenance of a stranger. He is taller than she is (though not as tall as her husband) with dark hair and dark eyes above a face covered in whiskers. He’s dressed nicely enough and he is wearing a rather alluring cologne. She isn’t impressed. “May I help you?”

He tilts his head, smirking in a way he probably believes is ‘flirtatious’. “Just wanted to offer a pretty lady a drink.” He brandishes a shot glass full of some red liquid, placing it in front of her.

Hermione suppresses the impulse to roll her eyes, choosing instead to purposefully take the drink he’s just “offered” and force it back in his hand. “While that is a lovely offer, I already have one, and I only accept drinks directly from the barkeep.”

She turns back to her book only to stop again when the man doesn’t move, pressing more firmly into her side. “Come on, love. I got it straight from the barkeep before bringing it to you. It’ll go to waste if you don’t take it.”

Her smile – fake and plastic as it already is – hardens further. “Then it isn’t an offer but an obligation which I will thank you to take back to your table as I have already stated I do not take drinks from strangers.”

With an ease he shouldn’t be capable of under her growing glare, the man replaces the shot glass with its untouched contents on the bar, thrusting his now empty hand at her. “Well, then, I’ll introduce myself: Randy Muffkin. Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss . . . “

She doesn’t answer, instead taking up the fucking glass again and thrusting it into his offered hand. “You seem to have trouble listening, Mr. Muffkin. You offered me a drink. I refused, as is my right. You offered the drink again. I refused again. I will not be giving you my name. I will not be taking your drink.” She punctuates her absolute lack of interest in him by opening her book again. “Now, I would like to read my book in peace while I wait for my friend to arrive.”

The book is slammed shut by his meaty hand, nearly crushing Hermione’s fingers. 

“I’m trying to be nice here as it’s obvious you’re spending Valentine’s Day alone. There’s no need to be an ungrateful bint.” He sets the shot glass down hard, some of the liquid spilling out onto her book. 

Grinding her teeth, she is about to throw the fucking drink in his face when a familiar drawl sounds from over her shoulder. “Is this wanker bothering you, miss?”

Her head whips to her other side to find Draco Malfoy watching the unwelcome arse hole glaring back. 

“Who the fuck are you calling a wanker?” 

Hermione ignores the wanker. “I have it under control. Thank you.” She takes a moment to study the blond man. He’s still wearing his coat, the collar popped with a dashing flair.

Draco’s smirk is cutting as he takes up the contested drink and calls the barkeep, handing it to the man with instructions to dump it down the drain. The Wanker protests that he paid good money for that. Draco very clearly states it’s not their problem before leaning on the bar and pointing subtly to her nearly empty glass of wine. “Shall I buy you another drink, love?”

Wanker shoves an arm across Hermione’s chest to push at Draco. “The lady already has a drink and doesn’t accept any from strangers.”

This time Hermione does roll her eyes, very perfunctorily grabbing the man’s wrist and pushing his arm back where it belongs: away from her. “I can speak for myself.”

Draco crowds her and she leans into him, away from the Wanker. “Dinner then?”

She smiles up at him. “That would be lovely.” Turning to gather her things, she glares hotly at the dark-haired man who still has not taken the more-than-obvious hint that he is not welcome.

Wanker squawks, “What the fuck is this? You won’t take a drink from me, but you’ll leave the pub with him? I was here first!”

Hermione opens her mouth to yell at the man, but Draco beats her with a low growl, “I beg to differ.” Sensing that things are deteriorating more than she has the patience to deal with, she glares at the Wanker, her tongue branded with a reprimand, _I am not a fucking them park ride queue;_ however, the heat in Draco’s eyes arrests her as he leans closer, smirking wickedly, “I was definitely first. Wasn’t I, love?”

Heat flares in her belly at his tone, the roll of his tongue as he calls her _love_ , the feel of his fingers as they secret down to trace the line of her wedding rings. Her breath upticks and her heart trips in her chest, remembering.

Their first kiss – sloppy and inexperienced, fueled by anger and hate and all the ugly things surrounding them . . . . yet, also, passionate and _real_ , softened by childhood and the well of innocence still intact between them. It had been the night of the Yule Ball after Ron had ruined everything before retreating like a coward. Viktor had found her crying on the stairs but he had lacked the language to completely understand the nuance of her relationship with the youngest Weasley boy and had offered coddling when what she needed was someone to fight.

Draco had given that to her in spades later that same night as she had snuck out in her night clothes and the invisibility cloak to the library to wind down and research past Tournaments. She still didn’t know exactly what Draco had been looking for; but at his appearance, they had almost immediately devolved into a scene of verbal warheads and spitting vitriol before – and here her memory fails – one of them grabbed the other and –

His breath is in her ear, the pillowed flesh of his l bottom lip caressing the lobe. “Do you remember, Hermione? The library?”

God, did she remember. After that first kiss, they had at once avoided each other and sought each other. More unplanned shared kisses had yielded to clandestine meetings and promises of silence; and as they grew up and the world became darker, more dangerous, every short meeting became desperate and tinged with a hopeless kind of devastation. 

Until the night before Dumbledore’s death when she had gone to the restricted section of the library searching for literally _anything_ to help her form an alternative plan for her parents, to help Harry, to solve this impossible puzzle of war brewing outside the sanctity of Hogwarts. 

Draco had already been there, sitting on the floor with his face buried in his hands and his shoulders quivering with barely audible sobs. 

They had not spoken. Not when she found him. Not when he looked up at her – ruddy-faced and tear stained. Not when she crouched down to him to take his face in her hands. Not when he collapsed into her. Not when they undressed each other. 

Definitely not when they took each other’s virginity. And absolutely not when Madame Pince caught them just as Draco grunted his release.

He hadn’t cracked even a hint of smirk when she uncharacteristically, nervously joked that Ron would say it was the most action Pince had seen in a century.

The encounter had haunted her everyday afterward. 

She had told Ron the day before he left Harry and her in the Forest of Dean, effectively destroying any chance for them to become romantic in the future. 

She had told Harry shortly after their short captivity at Malfoy Manor. 

And as she had recovered from the war and its aftermath, that chapter of her life had continued to be one frequently revisited for complex and often contradicting reasons.

A bruising hand wraps around her wrist and a violent yank jerks her back to the present as Wanker attempts to man-handle her while puffing his chest toward Draco whose eyes had cooled to practically glacial. “I’m only going to say this one more time, old boy: Fuck off. I saw the lady first, and I’ll be one to buy her drinks and take her home.”

At this, _Hermione_ throws all sense of decorum into the bin, stepping on the man’s foot then kicking at his shin, practically jumping back to stand beside Draco and wrap her arm around his waist. He has already gathered her things for her, and she can feel the stress of his restraint in the tension of his muscles. “I’m only going to say _this_ one more time: **I. Am. Not. Interested.** ” She looks up at Draco, takes in the sharp angle of his jaw and the jumping muscle there. “Also, I’m sure my _husband_ would also have some objections.” 

Draco’s glare is a cutting thing, but he doesn’t add to the conversation, knowing she has already taken care of it and doesn’t need nor want his protection. They leave the pub shortly after, coats fully buttoned and extremities covered with gloves, scarves, and hats as they again brave the cold. 

They don’t speak for several moments as they walk home while Hermione fingers her charmed galleon, occasionally checking it as she checks in with the still-absent Ginny.

_You set me up._

His idea. My plan.

_I love you._

Happy Valentine’s Day.

_To you and Harry as well._

Smiling, Hermione pockets the galleon and relaxes into Draco’s side, her arms wrapped around him as he supports her shoulders. 

“How long was the Wanker harassing you before I arrived, darling?” He isn’t looking at her, but she can hear the suppressed anger in his voice. 

She presses her head a little more firmly into his shoulder, squeezes a bit around his rib cage. “Not long. I had it handled.”

He breathes, the coiled tension of his body eases as he angles his gaze to her. “Of course you did, Mrs. Malfoy. I would expect nothing less.”

She shifts her hold to his arm, hugging the appendage and feeling ridiculously happy. “I’m glad you’re home, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Couldn’t miss our first Valentine’s Day together.”

They’re very nearly home as the snow begins to fall again. Hermione had started the evening thinking she would return to an empty flat; but now images of half-empty boxes of chocolate, spent champagne flutes and bodies writhing by warm firelight dance in her head. She reaches up to kiss him as they reach the door to their flat, her mouth ringed in a smirk he often says he finds sexy as fuck. “Happy first Valentine’s Day, husband.”


End file.
